One Last Step Page 4

But then something else caught Tara’s eye. A man was walking toward her from the opposite side of the store. Tara paused again and rewound the footage. She’d missed him moments earlier, too fixated on the victim. But now she saw that he was there all along, concealed behind a rack of clothing. He was carefully pushing each item aside in a mechanical fashion, as if he had no intent to buy anything, and then he noticed her as she came in.

  Tara studied him as his eyes looked up upon her entrance, and as they remained there while he continuously pushed aside each shirt on the rack and then gained the courage to walk over to her. Their encounter was brief. They spoke for just a moment. She smiled at him before he said something to her, and then she thanked him and left the store. Moments later he stood at the counter, speaking to Mr. Baker, who had just emerged from the back room. He purchased something and then left as well.

  Tara immediately looked up to see Warren’s eyes locked on the screen too.

  “Mr. Baker!” he called out, urgently.

  The shop owner hurried into the back room of the store.

  “What is it? I was helping a customer,” he said with annoyance. But, as he got close to the monitor, his eyes widened in confusion. “Is that the same woman you showed me a picture of earlier?”

  Warren swiftly nodded. “Rewind it,” he said.

  Tara did as she was told and then paused right when the woman entered the store.

  “Do you remember seeing her?” Warren asked.

  The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Uh…no…no, I don’t.”

  Tara knew Warren already knew the answer, since the shop owner didn’t seem to be present in the recording, but he had to ask anyway.

  “Let it play,” Warren said.

  Tara hit the space bar and the video continued. They all watched intently, Tara’s eyes now fixated on the man, dissecting him for anything she missed. She finally paused again when they had a clear view of the looks of him.

  “Who’s that man?” Tara asked as she pointed to him on the screen. The shop owner remained silent but Tara could tell in his eyes that he recognized him, yet the shock of what she and Warren seemed to assume left him speechless.

  “That’s Greg Davis,” he finally said, his eyebrows knit in confusion. “He comes in here often.”

  “What exactly does he come in here for?” Tara asked.

  The shop owner still stared at the screen, trying to make senses of what he was seeing. “He’s a hunter, so he comes in to get supplies sometimes,” he replied.

  A hunter, Tara thought. He was sounding increasingly more like a suspect. “Has he ever purchased a crossbow from you?”

  “We don’t sell stuff like that here.”

  “What kind of stuff does he usually buy?”

  The shop owner finally looked up from the screen. “Usually he’ll just buy things like flashlights, rain gear, pocketknives, stuff like that.” He paused as he saw the suspicion in Tara’s eyes. “Look…I know this all doesn’t look good, but I know Greg pretty well. I really don’t think he could’ve done something like this.”

  “We’re not saying he did anything,” Tara replied. “We just want to speak with him. Do know where he lives?”

  He nodded skeptically, but reached for a piece of paper next to the computer and scribbled down an address.

  “Thanks,” Tara said as he handed it to her.

  She turned toward Warren. The corners of his mouth were slightly raised, as if he were holding back a smile, and then he nodded. Tara wondered if maybe he was growing to enjoy their partnership. But the moment quickly faded as his face became suddenly stern. They now had a possible suspect, and Tara knew he didn’t want to waste any time.

  Chapter Eight

  The home came into view and Tara couldn’t help but admire it. It was a large cottage, sitting on about a few acres of land with the thick forest in the distance. Perfectly arranged flowers were in a bed beneath each window. The house was well taken care of, and there was such a tranquility about it that Tara found it oddly ironic.

  Warren pulled the car into the driveway and they quickly followed the cobblestone pathway to the porch. Tara knocked, and seconds later a woman appeared at the door. She was dressed in plain clothing and letting off the scent of Pine-Sol, as if she were in the midst of cleaning. But oddly, her face was caked in thick makeup.

  She looked them up and down, startled by their presence.

  “Can I help you?” she asked while carefully tugging at her long sleeves, even though it was a warm day.

  Tara narrowed her eyes. “Is Greg Davis around?”

  At Tara’s question, a look of fear washed over her and she reached for her short blonde bob, untucking her hair from behind her ear. It was like watching a curtain fall in someone’s window, shielding a view they wouldn’t want outsiders to see. But Tara could already see what she was trying to conceal—a fresh bruise—because no makeup or hair could hide the slight distortion of her face caused by a swollen cheek.

  “Who’s asking?” she finally questioned.

  “We’re with the FBI,” Tara said as she flashed her badge. “We just wanted to ask him a couple questions. Are you his wife?”

  A look of concern swept over her as she nodded. “Is he in some kind of trouble?” she blurted, before realizing her words could be too telling.

  She stroked her hair anxiously once more, making sure it had fallen into its proper place.

  Suddenly Warren spoke. “No, ma’am, we just want to talk to him.”

  The woman’s eyes fell to the floor as she shook her head. “He’s out hunting.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?” Tara asked.

  She shook her head again. “Maybe tomorrow?” she guessed. “He stays overnight usually in our cabin.”

  Tara and Warren shared a quick glance before Tara spoke. “When did he leave?”

  A silence fell around them and the woman sighed. She was growing nervous by their incessant questioning.

  “Like we said, he’s not in any trouble,” Warren added again.

  But Tara knew that wasn’t what was troubling her. There was something about her that gave Tara a strange feeling—a familiarity. She had never met this woman before, yet she had seen this behavior—the awkward nervousness caused by a broken interior. It was like looking into the eyes of someone she knew well—her mother.

  “We won’t tell him we were here if you’d like,” Tara finally said.

  The woman remained quiet for a moment longer, ignoring the remark, but her face relaxed.

  “He left yesterday morning,” she finally revealed.

  Tara placed the pieces carefully together in her head. He had been gone since yesterday, before evidence showed he met the victim, and yet he still hadn’t come home. It all sounded premeditated and now, after meeting his wife, it was evident that he seemed violent.

  “Would you be able to give us an address for the cabin?” Tara asked.

  The woman nodded before leaving the room and coming back moments later with a pen and paper. She scribbled something on it and handed it to Tara.

  Tara thanked her, but before they said their goodbyes, Tara asked her one last question. “May I ask what happened to your cheek?”

  The woman’s hand instinctually covered the area of her face. She stood there, dumbfounded, as redness seeped to the surface of her skin. But then a look of horror flashed before Tara as the woman realized why she would ask that—that her husband might actually be in trouble after all—and that could only mean that she would now be too, but at the hands of him.

  “I fell,” she finally blurted before slamming the door in their faces.

  ***

  Warren pulled onto a side road as they neared their destination, and Tara looked up from the map on her phone. She had just finished reading the last direction to Warren and now they sat in silence, as Tara felt awkwardness sweep through the car.

  She finally looked over at him. His eyes were unwaveringly focused in front of him, but she decid
ed to speak to ease her anxiety. She hated silence.

  “You think it’s him?” she asked.

  Warren glanced over at her and then back at the road.

  “It’s possible,” he said. “The shop owner sure didn’t know him as well as he thought.”

  Tara knew he was referring to the marks on Greg Davis’s wife. Warren’s words were short, as they usually were, yet he didn’t need to elaborate. His voice was laced with doubt, which only justified Tara’s own inner feelings. It was something that was left unsettled within her gut—that this would be too easy and that this killer seemed too smart. After all, he was smart enough to take the arrows, the belongings of the victims, and the bodies of the first two. Yet, he left the compasses strategically. Everything about the crime scene was strategic. And at that thought, the same question crossed her mind: would someone who thought so thoroughly about not leaving evidence fail to think of store cameras?

  She glanced over at Warren once more.

  “Part of it just doesn’t add up to me,” she said. “The cameras…why would he be so careful about not leaving evidence at the crime scenes but yet let himself be seen?” She turned to Warren in her seat. “Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

  Warren nodded. “You think he’s too smart?” he asked.

  “Don’t you?”

  Warren pulled into a long driveway. “It’s definitely something I’ve thought about,” he confirmed. “But we need to be prepared for the worst.”

  His words lingered in the car as it bounced along the unpaved driveway. He was right; they needed to be mentally prepared for the worst, even if they had doubt in their mind.

  Tara stared in front of her as a weathered log cabin came into view. It was a decent size, surrounded by only the forest. But unlike the house they just came from, this cabin showed the marks of time—a discoloration in the wood and a roof that needed new shingling. A car was in the driveway and Tara braced herself for the man they were about to meet. As Warren put the car in park, Tara heard something. At first it was only faint, but she listened intently and when the car shuddered to a halt, she could hear it clearly—it was unmistakably a woman’s scream, and it sent a shiver up Tara’s spine.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked as she quickly let out her seatbelt.

  Warren didn’t even reply. He pushed his car door open and they both jumped out, Warren reaching around his waist for his gun before holding it out in front of him.

  “Mills, I want you to go around and guard the back,” he whispered over the hood of the car.

  She nodded, watching him as he hurriedly raced toward the front door. Tara held out her gun, steadying it in her hand as it shook anxiously—her heart pounding against her chest. Each time the woman screamed, it sent a jolt through Tara’s body.

  It was a sudden panic taking over, she knew, for she had been prone to the feeling many times before. But this time was different. She couldn’t allow it to happen.

  She forced her body forward, as she tried with all her might to steady her breathing. In and out, she told herself as she took long controlled inhales. But each time she heard a scream, her heart would pick up speed, until the panic seized her lungs as well, causing her to take short quick breaths until she could barely breathe.

  She didn’t even realize how far she had moved—now standing on the side of the cabin—before her vision darkened. She placed her hand against the siding to steady herself.

  “Mills! I told you to guard the back!” Warren screamed.

  Tara felt a jolt through her body once again, but this time it freed her with a sudden rush of adrenaline as Warren whizzed past her. The screaming had stopped and Tara quickly pulled herself together as she realized what had unfolded.

  She ran as fast as she could to the back of the cabin, and when she approached, she could see that a window was open and a short, stocky man was running deep into the woods with Warren on his tail.

  He had a good lead, a few feet in front of Warren, but Tara had to do something; she had caused this. She ran after them, weaving in and out of trees, her eyes focused on the two of them. Warren was faster and fitter—the fleeing man was growing winded—and Tara watched Warren close in, grabbing hold of his shirt.

  Relief flooded Tara’s body, but only for a second, because as Warren fastened his grip, his foot hit a rock, sending him tumbling forward. He pulled the man’s shirt along with him until it fell free from his grip, and the man stumbled back, losing his footing as well. His hands touched the ground for a moment until he steadied himself on his feet. He was about to pick up running again, but Tara had already caught up. She tackled him, sending his body flat onto the ground, and then cuffed him.

  Warren stood up, covered in mud and leaves.

  “What the hell happened to you?!” he screamed.

  Tara looked up at him, unsure of how to respond. She knew there was no way to hide the huge mistake she just made.

  “Get him in the car and call an ambulance,” he added, his words clouded with anger. He turned, running back through the woods to go check on the woman.

  Tara tried to pull herself together as she got to her feet and forced the man to walk in front of her. He stood up, defeated, his deep sunken eyes focused in front of him as Tara forced him to the car. Moments later, the man was in the back of the vehicle and Tara had called for an ambulance.

  Warren stood on the porch, speaking with the woman who was screaming moments earlier. He didn’t even look up as Tara approached. His gaze fixated on the woman, whose auburn bangs were matted to her forehead with blood.

  Tara walked over and stood silently. She didn’t dare intervene.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Warren asked.

  “It’s just my face,” she said between sobs. “We were just fighting and…” Her crying intensified as she reached toward her forehead, trying to feel the extent to her injury. “He hit me and I hit the coffee table,” she added.

  “We have an ambulance on their way. They’ll take a look at that for you.”

  The woman nodded.

  “How do you know him?” Warren then questioned.

  The woman’s eyes moved from Warren to the car, where the man was peering through the window.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Warren added. “He can’t hurt you now.”

  The woman sighed. “We’ve been dating for a few months,” she replied as she looked from Warren to Tara. “I know he’s married,” she admitted. “He said they were done, that he was leaving her.” She started to weep again at her words. She had answered a question that Warren hadn’t even asked, but it weighed too heavily on her conscience.

  “Has he been violent with you before?”

  She looked toward the man in the corner of her eye and lowered her voice.

  “He’d grabbed me a few times, but he only hit me once before this. He promised he wouldn’t do it again.” She touched her injured forehead once more.

  Sirens echoed off the trees as the ambulance approached, but Warren had one more question. He had been holding the victims’ pictures in his hand, and he held them out to her.

  “Have you ever seen any of these people before?” he asked.

  She took them in her hand and peered at each one. “No, I haven’t,” she said with certainty.

  The ambulance then pulled into the driveway and an EMT stepped out and approached the porch. Warren thanked the woman and then briefly filled in the EMT, who began attending to the woman’s wound.

  Warren walked off to the side of the porch. Tara followed, bracing herself for whatever he was about to say to her.

  He looked at her for a moment with sheer disappointment in his eyes, a silence lurking awkwardly between them. He was giving her a chance to speak first, but at the realization, Tara’s palms began to sweat—her face reddening—because she had no words to describe what happened to her.

  She knew it was a panic attack. That much was obvious to even Warren, but the cause of it was so much deeper. It bubbled up fr
om a layer of herself she had always tried so hard to conceal. But she knew she couldn’t tell him. She would look weak, damaged, which she already did, and without the strength to speak of it, she could only remain silent.

  Warren waited a moment longer but then sighed.

  “I’m going to take a look inside,” he said. “You should probably come too.”

  Tara knew she had let him down once again and it sat like a rock in her stomach.

  She followed behind him as they entered the cabin. They searched in silence as Tara tried to think of any way to explain her actions. She knew she messed up. It was a fear she always had, that her demons would somehow trickle into her present-day life, disabling her at her job. They had already trickled into her subconscious when she slept, but this was a new layer of it all. It affected her job. It was her worst fear coming to life.

  They searched in silence for a while longer. The cabin was spacious, with many rooms, and it looked just as Tara would expect a hunter’s lair to look, with log-wooded walls, and deer head trophies mounted everywhere she turned. They searched in every corner of each room. For weapons, compasses, anything that would link him as a possible suspect.

  “I found something,” Warren finally said.

  They hadn’t been in the cabin long and Tara followed Warren’s voice to the garage.

  The room had a musty smell and was mostly empty, except for a large black safe. But Warren stood on the other side of the room. Two crossbows hung on the wall, and he was carefully taking one down.

  “We’ll get them to forensics, see if they could’ve fired the arrow found in the third victim,” he finally said.

  Tara nodded before scanning the rest of the room. In the corner next to the wall of crossbows sat a canvas bag filled with arrows. She remembered what Reinhardt and the case file said, that the arrow found in the victim was a TenPoint. She pulled each one out, checking to see if the brand name was written somewhere, but she couldn’t find it anywhere.

  “We’ll get those to forensics too,” Warren said as he saw Tara pull another arrow from the bag. “We got to get in here though,” he added as he turned around and walked toward the safe on the other side of the garage.